


I Run a Tidy Bakery

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 11:58:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7844020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy knows plenty of his regulars. It's part of his job. But the grumpy blonde med student is definitely his favorite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Run a Tidy Bakery

Anyone who acts like it's magic when Bellamy remembers customers' names and orders has never actually worked in a customer service position, he's pretty sure. It's not like he _tries_ to get to know people. Or, well, he didn't at first. These days, he realizes it's a good idea, broadly speaking, because it encourages repeat business and fosters a sense of community and all these other things he's supposed to care about, now that he's a manager.

But mostly, it's just kind of unconscious. He memorizes people's names and orders because once someone has been in three or four times, he just starts recognizing them. And given he tends to think of them with fairly unflattering epithets until he knows their names, it's probably good he learns so quickly. Just to avoid awkwardness.

Case in point: grumpy blonde. It's a little before their morning rush, and she's following the line, but scowling at her phone, not really paying attention, and Bellamy has to say, "Good morning," three times, pointedly, before she startles up.

When she does, she offers him a very sheepish smile. "Shit, I'm sorry. I got this annoying email from--you don't care. Sorry. Can I get a large coffee and, um, do you have a pastry recommendation?"

It's a good recovery, and she looks genuinely contrite. And she's kind of cute. "Sweet or savory?"

"Sweet."

"You like fruit?"

"Yeah."

"Blueberry scone."

"Great. Blueberry scone and a large coffee. Thanks."

"Sure."

He rings her up, and she dumps all her change in the tip jar with another _thanks_. As soon as the transaction is over, she's back to scowling at her phone, but that's fine. He doesn't mind grumpiness, as long as it's directed at the correct place. If her email deserves it, that's fine; she just needs to know customer service professionals don't.

She's back again two days later, at the same time, still scowling at her phone. She's wearing scrubs, but pretty young, so he's guessing she's a resident or intern at the hospital, which would make him grumpy too.

But when she gets to the counter, she stashes the phone and smiles at him. "Hi, good morning," she says, before he can say anything.

"Good morning. What can I get you?"

"Large coffee and a blueberry scone."

"It was good?" he asks, and adds, "The scone," when she looks confused.

"Oh!" she says. It's the reaction he expected; people tend to remember him, because he's the barista they saw the other day. Most don't expect him to remember them, because he sees so many customers. And, to be fair, he doesn't remember everyone. But Grumpy Blonde made a bad first impression and recovered it, which is notable. "Yeah, it was great. Thanks for the recommendation."

"Any time." It isn't crowded enough that he has any excuse to ask for her name, so he just grabs the coffee and the scone and thanks her for her business, and she smiles and thanks him back.

It goes like that for a few more days; she comes in around the same time, orders the same thing, and Bellamy starts supplying the order before she can say it, which she seems to find endearing.

After her first full week of coming in every day, she ask, "How long would a latte take?"

Monroe's on the hot drinks line, working on one with another in the queue. "A couple minutes?"

"Can I get a large latte, then? And the scone."

"Sure. Can I get a name for the drink?"

"Clarke," she says. "With an E."

"Where's the E?" he asks, mostly to be a dick.

Her smile suggests she kind of likes dicks. "At the end. Where were you thinking?"

"It's silent, it could go anywhere." He gives her the scone. "We'll call you when the drink is ready."

"Thanks," she says, and puts a dollar in the jar.

Clarke becomes his favorite customer in a fairly passive way. She's polite to him and the rest of his staff, she always tips, and she looks like she wants to murder everyone else in the world half the time, which is definitely the kind of thing Bellamy likes in a person. 

The first time she comes in after work, that's when he starts liking _her_.

"Am I hallucinating?" she asks, when she sees him behind the counter. It's ten minutes before close, and Bellamy's worked the whole day only because Myles called in sick.

"I don't know, what are you seeing?" he asks. "Hi, Clarke."

"Hi, surly barista." She seems to realize what she said, and blushes. "Um."

"Bellamy," he supplies. "But surly barista is fine too. Long day?"

"For you too, apparently." She cocks her head at him. "Bellamy?"

"Bellamy."

She nods. "That's a nice name. Do you do sandwiches? Anything with nutritional value? Is your kitchen closed?"

Ordinarily, he'd be pissed at someone coming in this late and asking for a real meal, but Clarke looks like she got pulled through the ringer. And despite her exhaustion she seems to realize she's inconveniencing him, which he appreciates.

"We don't really have a kitchen. But I've got some sandwiches left, yeah. I think there's ham and cheese on croissant and, uh, mozzarella and tomato on ciabatta. Either of those sound good?"

"The mozzarella."

"Sure. Do you want it warmed up?"

Her moan is mildly pornographic. "Is that an option?"

"Yeah, I think I can handle that."

She offers him a weary smile. "Thank you so much."

"This is a pretty normal business transaction," he says, putting the sandwich into the panini press. "You come in, order something, and pay me for it. It's not really charity. Are you getting a drink?"

"I think so." She clucks her tongue. "Decaf? I'm worried I'm going to lose my voice if I don't drink something hot."

"So, you had a great day, clearly. Large?"

"Always."

"You want to make it a latte?"

She groans again. "Thank goodness you're here. You always know what I want."

"That's because you always want the same thing. You should switch it up sometimes. We have tons of good pastries," he says, and gets a cookie for her on the house. She's tipped like thirty bucks over the last month; she deserves a free cookie after a rough day. "Anything else?"

"Do you just have water?" she asks, like there is a possibility he's going to say no.

He gets her a cup of water and gives her a critical once over for good measure. "Jesus, how bad was your day? It's gonna be ten-twenty-eight, the drink and the sandwich will be done in a minute. Eat your cookie and drink your water."

Clarke blinks rapidly. "I didn't get a cookie," she says, handing over her credit card.

"It's the end of the day, they're just going to the day-old sale box tomorrow anyway," he says. "Take the free cookie."

Her mouth tugs up in a small smile. "Thanks."

"You're still paying me," he says. "Sit down."

"Aren't you closing? I was going to eat it on the train."

"I assume you're not leaving until you get the food, so you can sit until then."

She huffs out a small laugh, but then she breaks off a piece of cookie and eats it, so at least she's doing _something_ right. "Honestly, if I sit down I'm not convinced I can get back up."

"What did you do today?"

"Started my new rotation with a twelve-hour shift."

"That would do it. So you're a med student?"

"Yeah."

"What's the new rotation?"

"Psychiatry. I was in the psych ward half the day and one of the patients thought I was his dead wife."

"That sounds like it sucks."

She laughs. "It does."

He slides her the latte, and she offers him a chunk of cookie, which he accepts. "What's your actual specialty going to be?"

"Surgery." She smiles into her cup. "Do you just learn hospital stuff by osmosis?"

"Basically, yeah. I'm not at bartender levels of people pouring out their misery to me, but I overhear a lot of stressed-out phone calls about how residents should have gone to Minnesota with that guy when they had the chance."

Clarke laughs, soft, almost shy, like she doesn't do it much. "That seems like a weirdly specific regret to overhear a lot."

"Yeah, I'm kind of worried about it. I think there might be some dude in Minnesota who's really into med students and he's duping them all."

"But you aren't going to intervene?"

"Well, none of them went to Minnesota with him, so they're safe, right?"

"Oh, right."

He slides her the sandwich. "Try not to pass out on the train, okay? I need the business."

She laughs again, gives him half a smile. "Well, if you need the business." She raises her cup to him. "Thanks, Bellamy. Have a good night."

"You too," he says, and then, "See you tomorrow?"

That gets him the full smile. "Yeah. See you tomorrow."

It doesn't change anything between them, except that when he says, "Morning, Clarke," she replies with, "Hey, Bellamy," and she'll sometimes get something other than the blueberry scone. From what he can tell, she only orders other things from him, and only after he's already asked if she wants the usual. If he doesn't say anything, she goes with it, but if he acts like he knows what she wants, she makes a point of proving him wrong.

It should maybe be annoying, but honestly, he mostly finds it cute. Which is its own problem. Clarke is a customer, whom he sees once a day for roughly five minutes. She's always in a hurry, and even when they aren't that busy, he always has something to do. And it's not like anything is going to happen, regardless, even if they did chat. She's a stranger who is currently a regular, and at some point her schedule will change or she'll finish school and she'll become a cute girl he never sees again. So, really, he should enjoy what he gets of her while he can, like he enjoys the insanely hot guy who buys a box of pastries for his staff meetings once a month.

It feels stupider to enjoy Clarke, but he has no interest in figuring out why. It's definitely not a big deal.

The first day she doesn't come in, he still frets, and even considers coming back around closing, just in case she stops by. But all his coworkers would ask what he was doing, and it's a conversation he doesn't want to have. His regular schedule is Tuesday to Saturday, but it switches up sometimes to cover illnesses, and she's never expressed concern about him taking a day off.

And she's back the next day, as usual, so it's not like he had any reason to worry.

"Hey, Clarke," he says, nodding. "The usual?"

"Can I get a shot of vanilla in my latte?"

"Sure. You want to try the new scone? It's cranberry-orange."

"Is it good?"

"No, I hate you, so I'm telling you to buy gross shit."

"Yeah, that checks out." She considers. "I'll take one of each. I've got a long day today, I wouldn't mind a snack."

"Cool," he says, and accepts her card. "Hope it goes okay."

She flashes him a smile. "Thanks."

That's the first time she doesn't show up, but not the last, and it always bugs him a little, this nagging feeling of his routine being thrown off. He looks forward to Clarke coming in, and while he doesn't notice right away when she skips a day, by ten o'clock or so he'll become aware that he's feeling a little down, realize it's because he didn't see her. It's not like she's the only highlight of his day; he likes Raven, a software engineer who sits in the corner for hours and drinks tea like it's her job, and Monty, who comes in on Saturdays with his mother and definitely has a thing for Miller, and Anya, who speaks in monosyllables and glares at everyone, but puts twenties in the tip jar because she can. 

But Clarke just--he likes knowing that Clarke exists in the world. He likes existing with her.

She's gone for a couple weeks in March, he assumes for spring break, and he nearly asks about it, but the first day she's back it's really busy, and he can't figure out a casual way to bring it up anyway. It was spring break. Of course she was gone. What's he supposed to say?

And then the school year ends, and that's when he realizes he has no idea if she's even coming back. She was clearly already into her rotations when she started coming in, so--she might be done. Onto her residency, wherever that is.

It's always a little disconcerting, losing regulars. It happens from time to time, and Bellamy tends to notice, but not as quickly as he notices Clarke's absence. And he's never _sure_ , just like he's not sure with her. He'd honestly assumed this old guy named Dante had just died, but he came back after almost a year of no-shows and returned to his usual Saturday schedule with no comment.

Not that Bellamy expects a comment, of course. And, honestly, it's not like he even wants most of them to keep him updated. If Dante had told him he had gone on sabbatical or whatever else he did for however many months, Bellamy would have found it weird. He just can't help wondering. It's how he is; there's a part of his brain that notices people, and that means he also notices when those same people leave. Normally, he'll just forget.

But he really wants to know about Clarke, and that jars him. He wants to know where she went, if she's coming back.

He doesn't want her to be another person he never sees again. He wishes he'd known, if he wasn't going to. He would have said something.

And then, on a Saturday in late June, at just around eleven, someone says, "Hey, Bellamy," and when he looks up at his next customer, he sees it's Clarke.

For once, she's not wearing scrubs, just a pale red sun dress, with her hair down in waves to her shoulders. She has a pair of glasses on, and she's biting her lip, like she's nervous about seeing him, which feels like an absurd thing to assume.

"You're back," he says, and immediately regrets it.

But her smile is bright and instantaneous, which helps a lot. "Did you miss me?"

"I thought you graduated," he says, because it's better than admitting he did. It's decently busy, to his dismay, and he gives her an apologetic smile. "Sorry, uh--I need to keep the line moving. But it's good to see you. Do you want breakfast or lunch?"

"Lunch," she says, "One of the mozzarella paninis and a large latte, thanks."

"Should have known," he teases. "It'll be ready in a few."

"I know the drill. Thanks, Bellamy."

Ten minutes later, Miller shows up, clocks in, and tells Bellamy to take his break, and Bellamy grabs a sandwich only to find there are no free tables in the dining room. It's not exactly uncommon for a Saturday lunch, and normally he just eats outside when it's sunny, but--Clarke's alone at a table in the corner, with her bag on the other seat, reading something on her phone while she eats.

It's worth asking.

He clears his throat, and she looks up, smiles again. "Hey, uh, I'm on lunch and there are no seats. Do you mind?"

"No, of course not," she says, moving her bag and straightening up. "Go ahead."

"Thanks."

He settles in, and she turns her phone off, shifts her focus, which is both exciting and a little embarrassing.

"I won't be offended if you don't want to chat," he says. "I don't want to interrupt."

"You're fine," she says. "My book's not going anywhere."

"Cool," he says. "So, summer vacation?"

"No, you were right, I graduated. I start my residency July first."

He nodes. "Where are you going?"

"Nowhere. I was at home for a couple weeks to see my mom, but I got matched to the program here."

"Oh," he says, and tries not to smile too much. "So we're not losing your business?"

"Definitely not. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, right?"

"That's what I hear."

She cocks her head at him. "So--how many hours a week do you work?"

"Usually not that much more than forty. I'm a manager, so sometimes I have to cover shifts when people are sick. But it's not just non-stop. Why?"

"It feels like every time I come in you're here. Except Mondays," she grants. "But I got used to that."

It shouldn't make him feel warm and fuzzy, but of course it does. It's not a surprise that she noticed he wasn't around, but--he's glad all the same. "I work the morning shift, usually. I've got night classes."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Community college. Hoping to transfer to a four-year soon, finish the degree."

"That's cool. What are you studying?"

"History. I think I'd like to teach. But if I hate it, I wouldn't mind staying here. I have to wake up really early and I always smell like coffee, but it could be worse."

"Yeah, I have to wake up early and I always smell like antiseptic."

"I wasn't going to mention it."

She grins. "Very polite."

"That's me, always polite," he says, dry, and she snorts.

And just like that, she's back, stopping by in the mornings on her way to her shifts. She comes in earlier than she used to, because apparently surgery residents have different shifts from rotation students, but since he comes in at six, it's still not before he's around. And she's usually the only one around, so Bellamy chats with her as he gets her latte. It's not long, but--it's nice.

Even better, she starts coming in for lunch on Saturdays, just as regularly, and Bellamy joins her, as long as it's not too busy. She tells him about her residency, the bad days and good, the long hours at war with the satisfaction she gets from it. He tells her about his own classes, and even finds himself opening up about his family, his sister, and Clarke responds in kind. He's still not sure he's allowed to call her a friend, but--he hopes she thinks of him that way.

So when she's gone for a week, he's honestly pretty worried. He thinks they're at the point where she'd tell him if something was going on. He told her when he wasn't going to be in on Wednesday because he was covering Harper's Sunday shift, and she seemed to appreciate the head's up.

"You don't have her number?" Miller asks, on Friday.

"No."

"Dude," he says, mild, and Bellamy puts his forehead down on the table. 

"I know. I was working on it, okay? We were getting to know each other."

"Well, when she comes back, you should take this as your excuse to get her phone number. Or her email. This is definitely the next step."

"Unless she doesn't come back."

Miller rolls his eyes. "Dude. She'll be back. She came back before, right? And she's giving us like forty bucks a week just so she can hang out with you. Plus tips."

"It's not just so she can hang out with me."

"On Saturday it is."

He'd say he wants to argue but, in all honesty, he _doesn't_. He really hopes that is why she's coming, and that she'll come back.

"If she doesn't come back, you're buying me booze," he finally settles on, and Miller rolls his eyes.

"I'll even hold you while you cry."

Clarke's back on Saturday afternoon, looking like she got hit by a bus, and Bellamy's relief turns to concern in seconds.

"Jesus, what happened?"

"Flu," she says. "Or flu-like symptoms, I guess. Nothing I need to worry about, probably just picked something up at the hospital."

"Yeah, that's reassuring." He looks her up and down, crosses his arms. "Go sit down."

"I haven't ordered," she protests. "Or paid."

"You're getting your sandwich. And tea with honey. And a cookie. And it's on me. What are you even doing here?"

Her mouth tugs up in a smile. "I figured you were worried. Chamomile tea?"

"Yeah. Don't die on me."

It's later than she usually comes in on Saturdays, so she manages to snag one of the tables with an armchair, and by the time he gets to her with her lunch, it looks like she's melted into it.

"Next time, you should just call," he says.

"I don't know your number," she replies, without opening hey eyes.

"Call the shop, ask for Bellamy." He pauses. "I thought about calling the hospital and asking for you, but I didn't think that really worked at hospitals."

"Yeah, not really." She opens her eyes and grins at him. "You were worried."

"Obviously." He crosses his arms and huffs. "How are you feeling?"

"A lot better. I'm just tired now. I'll be ready for work on Monday."

"If you're not up for it--"

"I'm a doctor, Bellamy. I'm good at knowing how sick I am." She wets her lips. "Can I ask for your number and blame it on being sick if you don't want me to have it? I won't be offended. But you won't have to worry if I don't show up." 

"I was planning to ask for your number next time I saw you," he admits, and her grin could power the building, he's pretty sure.

Asking her out feels like the next logical step, but the actual path to doing so feels as daunting as it ever has, a constant worry in the back of his mind about overstepping his boundaries, about being more invested in her than she is in him. 

At the very least, he's pretty confident she's fond of him. Once they exchange phone numbers, he feels pretty good about texting her, and that takes off easily. Neither of them replies quickly during the day, given they both have jobs that require long periods of concentration, but she'll always respond eventually, and by all appearances, she likes him. But there's a world of difference between liking him and wanting to be in a relationship with him.

(Miller points out that he's never had lunch every week with a virtual stranger at their workplace just because he wanted to be _friends_ , and Bellamy has to admit that's pretty compelling. He's just maybe not ready to be compelled.)

And then, Octavia is in an accident two states away.

It's the kind of thing that's so bad, all he really manages to do before he leaves is tell Miller, and Miller tells the rest of the staff and sets shit up. Once he's actually at the hospital, he gets in touch with work, but he doesn't think to call Clarke. He can't honestly say he feels bad about it; his head is barely on straight. He _told_ O that motorcycles were dangerous, and even if she's not going to die, even if there's no chance of it, he's still fucking terrified out of his mind.

Clarke calls at around four, when he's sitting by O's side, watching her sleep, and for a minute he's resentful, but--he'd worry too. He'd do the same for her. She doesn't know how scared he is; she just knows he's not around.

Then she greets him with, "Nate told me your sister got hurt, is everything okay? Are the doctors giving you grief? Do you need any help with your insurance?"

He barks out a surprised laugh. "What?"

"I'd say I'd come down there and argue with them, but he said you weren't in the state and I don't think I can miss work tomorrow, so--just let me know if you have problems and I can give you some jargon to scare them into doing what you want."

"It's fine," he says. "She's on the school's insurance, so no problems so far."

"Good. How are you doing?"

"I finally stopped shaking."

"That's a good start. Do you want to talk about it?"

He lets out a ragged breath, can't quite let himself do it. "You're busy."

"I'm not."

She already knows about him and his sister, their mother dying, him taking care of her. So it's easy to tell her how he feels like he failed, even knowing it's irrational, even knowing she's an adult who makes her own choices. Clarke says she gets it, and he believes her, and she talks about surgeries gone wrong, the times she was sure she'd gotten through to patients only to have them come back making the same mistakes.

The nurse comes to tell him his sister is awake, and he realizes they've been talking for an hour.

"Fuck, I didn't mean to keep you," he says.

"I wanted you to keep me," she says. "Call me if you--" She laughs. "I assume you have other emergency contacts. But if there's anything I can do--"

"Yeah," he says, and swallows hard. "Thanks for calling. Really. I--thank you."

"Don't mention it. I hope your sister feels better soon."

"Yeah."

Octavia asks who he's texting as soon as she's with it enough to notice, and he tells her she's a brat.

He's back at work in a few days, and he's antsy for Clarke to come in. They talked on the phone a few times, texted even more than usual, and Clarke asked a bunch of insurance questions, because apparently she shows concern the same way he does, with intense, single-minded practicality.

It feels above and beyond friendship; it feels like it's worth asking.

It feels even more worth it when she sees him and her entire face lights up. He might not have told her he'd be in today, just because he was hoping to see that look.

"You're back!" she says.

"I'm back."

"How's Octavia?"

"Angry. So--normal. But she thinks her physical therapist is really hot, so I've got something new to stress about."

"Well, that's the important thing." She bites her lip, grin still huge. "Good to have you back."

"Thanks. And--seriously, thanks again for calling. It really meant a lot."

"Any time."

"No, it's a big deal," he says. "I feel like I owe you."

"You don't--"

"Like, you know. Dinner."

Her mouth forms a perfect o of surprise, and he has a second to panic before the grin is back, even brighter. "We've never done dinner before," she observes.

"Yeah, well, it's the natural progression, right? Start with breakfast, and then build to lunch, dinner--"

She glances around, leans across the counter to peck him on the mouth when she sees it's still early enough to be deserted. "That's what I was hoping for, yeah. Dinner would be great. When are you free?"

It's only a few weeks before Clarke's routine shifts again, and she starts getting breakfast at Bellamy's apartment. Since she's there already.

"Seriously, do you know how much it was costing me to flirt with you?" she teases.

He snorts. "I know exactly how much you were paying, yeah. Was it worth it?"

She wraps her arms around him as he fiddles with the coffeemaker, rests her cheek on his back. "Yeah. Every penny."


End file.
